


Throwing Stones at Hourglasses

by Draikinator



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4165668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Draikinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pseudo is a tricky shapeshifter, and Bee isn't difficult to mimic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throwing Stones at Hourglasses

Raf had his arms hooked over the canopy of the sunroof, eyes squinting into the wind racing past his face and tangling up his mussy hair, standing tiptoe on the upholstery, howling into the open air as Bee notched his speed up another ten miles, before slowing down and tugging at Raf with the end of a seatbelt. He dropped back down into the driver’s seat with a satisfied plop.

“What’s up?” He asked, letting Bee buckle him back in and running his fingers through his windswept hair.

[What’s that?] Bee chirped, slowing to a crawl and turning towards a mass in the distance on the shimmering gold Nevada horizon. Raf eyed it thoughtfully, before grabbing his phone from the passenger seat and opening a gps app.

“It’s a ghost town,” he said, clicking his phone off and pressing his nose against the window glass, “A place called ‘Edmonville,’ apparently.”

* * *

 

Bee swerved around a corner, taking it too fast and clipping the side of his altmode against the face of the mine wall, gashing streaks into his paint he didn’t slow down to lament, before diving back into his root mode and cornering the escapee in a dead end- or at least, one of them was the escapee, because Strongarm was there, along with two Sideswipes, eyeing eachother down.

“Bee! Come on-” said the one on his left, and Strongarm fell back toward him.

“Bee, you’re not gonna fall for this scrap, are you?” The one on his right whined. He gripped the handle of his Decepticon hunter cautiously.

“Okay, easy does it, both of you-” Bee said, moving his shoulders back, “How about this, then- a question only one of you can answer. What was your last arrest for?”

“Uh…” Said the first, looking back between Bee and the other nervously, “I don’t actually remember.”

“Speeding?” Supplied the second, hesitantly. Neither were right, though, and Bee groaned and rolled his optics.

“Okay, then. Who’s the main character on that kid’s show you like?”

The second Sideswipe bit his lip but the first perked up immediately, “Oh! Oh!! Shoot, I know this one! It’s Steven, Steven Universe!”

“Good answer,” Bee said, before opening fire on the second Sideswipe, who hissed, platelets shifting to look like Grimlock, before bowling him over with a swing of his tail and racing back down the hallway in Strongarm’s altmode.

* * *

 

Raf hopped out of the driver’s side door and onto the dry dusty earth, tromping forward curiously to investigate the gated doors of an ancient looking saloon while Bee transformed into his root mode to follow him. He prodded the metal star affixed to the upper floor with interest.

[What is this place?] He asked, looking down.

Raf clambered up the stairs, tapping his sneakers against the creaking wood to ensure it would hold his weight, “It’s a ghost town. Like two hundred years ago humans moved out this far west looking for gold and built towns around mines, but when they ran out of gold, everyone left. And so they just have these big empty towns out here sometimes.” He pushed open the doors and Bee dropped down to watch him go through the tiny entranceway nervously.

[There’s not any, like, actual ghosts, right?] he chittered, eyeing a swinging and worn sign down the road suspiciously, before turning back to Raf, who had stopped, back still turned to him.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

* * *

 

The next time he ran into Pseudo he bowled into him, fists out, scrambling in the dust. By the time it cleared he was panting, vents flared, staring at a mirror image of himself.

“That one’s the real one,” Sideswipe said, pointing at Pseudo and Bee grit his dentae.

“What?! No- that one’s the real one-” Strongarm said, gesturing angrily to him.

“Are you kidding?! I’m the real one!” Pseudo said, straightening and gesturing to himself. Strongarm wavered, looking uncertain.

“Ask us something!” Bee yelled, stepping toward Pseudo, but both his teammate’s weapons snapped toward him and he froze, arms up.

“Uh-” Strongarm started, stumbling, “What’s your full name?”

“B-” Bee started, but Pseudo cut him off.

“Bumblebee! Last waver, born on Cybertron, mid war.”

They narrowed their optics at him and Bee clenched his fists, “No fair! That’s all public record, my whole life is fair game on the net!”

They looked between the two of them uncertainly, and Pseudo smirked at him.

* * *

 

Raf padded out of the saloon, trying and failin to supress a giggle, a massive brimmed and dusty hat tipping over his eyes, another, ratty and filled with holes clenched in one fist. He tossed it to Bee.

“Ha- Bee, check it out, I’m a cowboy.”

[Pfft. What’s a cowboy?] He put the hat, comically undersized on his head and Raf snickered.

“They were like, olden times and whatever. They rode horses, wrangled cattle- cowboys were the law in these parts,” he said, making fingers guns with his hand and rolling off the steps and behind a barrel. He poked his head up, tipping the hat out of his vision, “They used to have showdowns out on the streets like this. Here, just- find cover, before I fill ya with holes, partner!” He said, making gun noises eith his mouth.

Bee immediately perked up and scampered behind a building, peeking out to shoot imaginry bullets back. Raf seized his chest and made a vaguely dramatic sound before falling back into the dust. He peeked one eye open. “Okay, blow the smoke off your gun, now. Its cool, thats what your supposed to do. Like this.” He made a gun with his hand and blew the imaginry smoke off the imaginary tip. Bee held his finger gun in front of his face and contemplated how to mimic the motion without a mouth, then turned his vents up to full blast and shot a gust of air at it.

Raf laughed.

* * *

 

“Okay, okay- uh- rank?” Strongarm said.

“Lieutenant!” Said Pseudo.

“Public record!” Cried Bee.

“Ooh! Integrated weapons?!” Sideswipe supplied.

“Arm blasters!”

“ _Public! Record!_ ”

Sideswipe and Strongarm looked at eachother uncertainly and Bee whined static.

“Don’t you have anything, anything that’s not public record?? Patrol shifts?! Favourite colour?!”

“I thought you just went when you felt like it,” Strongarm whispered.

“You’ve never mentioned it,” said Sideswipe softly.

Bee glanced at Pseudo, who looked ready to bolt at any moment.

“The name!” Sideswipe blurted and everyone looked at him, “What’s the name you yell when you recharge sometimes?”

“What?” Bee hissed, spark sinking.

“Sideswipe! We agreed not to mention that-” strongarm hissed.

“We hear you in the scrapyard, you just yell in your sleep and you apologize- what’s the name?”

* * *

 

Bee’s smile fell, disbelieving, “What do you mean, 'gone?’”

The Agent in front of him kneaded his hands together uncertainly, looking away, “I, uh- Agent Rafael was old, sir, he was- I mean he was like, forty-”

“No, that’s- your species has an average lifespan of over seventy! That’s not even remotely old!”

“I- uh- I mean, yeah, average, but he- it was just a heart attack. I mean he’d been through a lot of stress in his life, you know? And you’ve been gone for, like, almost a decade, I-”

“A decade to me is like a week to you! I was- time got away from me, I didn’t-” he stammered, before realizing he was gripping the catwalk hard enough the wrend it from the wall, and that the little human Agent was trembling, trying not to react to his frankly violent display. Bee snapped his hands away as if he’s been burned.

“I’m sorry,” the Agent said softly.

* * *

 

Bee’s mouth went dry and Pseudo stared at him, but his audials were ringing and rather than answer he snapped his gun from his holster and shot Pseudo in the head. He fell backward with a jerk, stunned, and his disguise rippled, the unconscious decepticon reverting his original form.

He looked at his teammates, who were looking away.

“It doesn’t matter what his name was,” he whispered, and shouldered Pseudo’s still form, comming for a groundbridge.


End file.
